


lips are like the galaxy's edge

by feathered (orphan_account)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Porn Without Plot, Rimming, mentions of weed idk, overuse of the word 'noodle'
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-12
Updated: 2013-12-12
Packaged: 2018-01-04 10:16:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1079796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/feathered
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry licks over Louis’ hole slowly, deliberately, and his tongue is like velvet and Louis’ skin is burning at every junction where Harry touches him and it’s all so good he thinks he might cry. He licks a few more times, moaning softly like he’s relishing the taste of Louis and that’s just, well, fuck.</p>
            </blockquote>





	lips are like the galaxy's edge

**Author's Note:**

> i've been wanting to write this ever since i made that post on tumblr about harry rimming louis until he sobs into the sheets....i got so much shit for that post but who the fuck cares pls enjoy louis getting wrecked. (i wrote this in like 3ish days which is the shortest amount of time it's ever taken me to write anything so there are probably some mistakes forgive me.)
> 
> title is from arabella by arctic monkeys

Louis’ head is swimming, warm and lazy and Caribbean blue, and it feels absolutely glorious. He’s high – really fucking high and he can’t stop giggling because wisps of Harry’s curls are tickling the apple of his cheek.

They lay like parallel lines, not quite touching – except for the wisps – feet pointing in opposite directions on the unmade king bed. Louis doesn’t have to look at Harry to know that he’s absolutely stunning. Gorgeous. Breathtaking. All sorts of adjectives like that. He always is – every second that he’s breathing.

Louis doesn’t like parallel lines. He wants to be perpendicular, he wants to _touch_. God, Harry is beautiful. His eyes are wide and glazed and green like sea-glass and he’s so _so_ beautiful. His limbs lay like noodles at his sides, but like, they’re pretty noodles. Elegant noodles.

_Elegant noodles._ Louis barks a laugh.

“Hmm?” Harry mumbles at the ceiling.

“Elegant noodles,” Louis giggles again. He can’t stop giggling.

“Elegant noodles?” Harry repeats, and Louis feels the bed move.

“Your arms, s’what they look like.”

Harry’s throaty laugh curls through the room like smoke and Louis want to catch the sound in his mouth, breathe it in.

His face appears above Louis’, suddenly, and Louis thinks he looks ethereal. His lips are close, so close. Not close enough.

“Harry,” Louis exhales. He likes how the name rolls off his tongue.

“Lou.”

Harry’s mouth is so nice when it moves, when it forms his name. His lips look like cherries. Cherry rhymes with Harry. Louis giggles again.

“M’gonna kiss you Harry. Harry Cherry.”

And he does.

Harry’s mouth is soft and warm and it moves slowly against his own and time stills, then. His tongue curls gently around Louis’ own and Louis’ brain goes all cloudy because Harry tastes like weed and cherries and it’s delicious. He thinks Harry tastes like cherries, at least. It might just be weed.

Louis doesn’t care though, because Harry is kissing him and this is all he’s ever wanted, really.

“Lou,” Harry whispers into the skin at Louis’ neck and it’s an awkward angle because he’s upside down but it feels like fire anyway. Good fire, though – slow-burning embers sizzling just beneath his skin. It’s warm and it’s nice and it’s _Harry_. “So pretty, Lou.”

Harry’s never called him pretty before. Harry is the prettiest boy he’s ever seen and he thinks Louis is pretty too and he thinks he blushes, at that. He can’t really tell though, because he’s hot all over.

He wants Harry to touch him everywhere.

Harry’s lips are gone from his neck, then, and Louis whines because they leave cold behind them. He wants them back on his skin. He wants them on his neck and his chest and his tummy and his hips and his thighs and every inch of him. He wants bruises, blooming and purple and pretty. He wants to remember.

Harry’s shifting above him, and the bed dips beneath his weight. Louis looks up and the ceiling is beige and ugly but the air swirls and ripples around it and he watches patterns form in the plaster. Everything is slow motion and Harry spreads his thighs over Louis’ hips, rocking down gently. Louis hisses through his teeth and his eyes widen because he’s hard and Harry’s hard and it feels _wonderful_ and Louis _wantswantswants_.

He bucks his hips upward, weakly, because his head doesn’t feel connected to his body and he can’t make it do what he wants. Harry still bites his lip at the contact, white teeth digging into bright popsicle red, eyes slipping closed. Louis wants to bite it too.

When he opens his eyes they’re all glittery, like they’ve been crystallized, and Louis’ skin prickles under his gaze. Harry looks like he wants to eat him. Louis whines and grips at Harry’s back, sweat-slick skin under his fingers. He wishes he would.

“Louis,” Harry’s voice settles over him, hazy and smooth, “can I…?”

His fingertips are brushing against the hem of Louis’ thin t-shirt. Louis’ heart slams into his ribcage because he _asked_ , all sweet and gentle and so absolutely _Harry_ that Louis aches with how much he loves him. And he does, even if Harry hasn’t the slightest clue. He sort of hopes he’ll start to figure it out, after all this.

Louis nods and Harry exhales and slips fabric over his head. He marvels at Louis’ bare chest, then, splaying his palms flat across it, fingers slotting between the spaces in his ribcage. Louis shivers; Harry’s hands span the whole expanse of him.

“You’re so beautiful, Louis. Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?” Harry’s words are quiet and he leans down to suck a bruise at the dip between Louis’ collarbones and Louis throws his head back onto the mattress. “God, _perfect._ ”

Harry’s smoothing his palms over the soft of Louis’ tummy and then the curve of his hips and finally the bow of his ass, slipping beneath elastic and fabric to bare skin. He squeezes, gingerly at first, then roughly, one hand fitted to each cheek and a low moan rumbling against Louis' sternum. Louis can’t breathe right because Harry just keeps fucking _squeezing_ , spreading his cheeks apart slightly, letting a long finger brush over his hole. He wants them inside. He wants Harry to open him up and then fill him up and he wants to be fucked until he can’t even _see_.

“Louis, princess, can you lift up your hips for me?”

Louis does and Harry slips his trackies down his thighs and his cock slaps against the little swell of his stomach. He almost wants to cry, then, because he’s so _so_ hard and _Harry called him ‘princess.’_

“Look at you, _fuck_ , so hard for me.”

Harry smooths his hands over the round of Louis’ thighs and then he’s leaning down again, giving little kitten licks to his cock, lapping at the precome that’s already leaking from the tip.

“ _Harry_ … _fuck_ … _please_ ….” Louis whines and his voiced already sounds wrecked, even to his own ears.

“Wanna try something, so bad,” Harry mumbles, nose to Louis’ belly, and Louis has absolutely no clue how he’s managing to speak right now but he _is_ and his throat contracts around his cock and it’s setting neurons ablaze.

“Want you… _uh_ …want you to,” Louis’ voice is fragmented and he wants Harry to do _everything_.

Harry pulls off slowly, hooded eyes and a string of saliva trailing from swollen lips. Louis thinks he could kiss him until all the air is sucked from his lungs. He’s on his tummy, then, because Harry rolled him over, gently, so gently. Louis’ spine tingles because his body is tiny and limp and he feels all floaty like a space jellyfish and Harry could throw him around, if he wanted to.

Harry is kissing down his spine and making soft sounds that vibrate against his skin. Louis feels tingly all over and his cock throbs where it’s pressed into the mattress. The sensory overload is unreal and he can’t make his head stop spinning, he _can’t_. Harry’s lips are everywhere and his hands are everywhere and he smells like fruit and _HarryHarryHarry_. Louis clutches at the sheets.

Harry smoothes his palms over Louis’ bum, down the backs of his thighs. He grips them – and his hands go almost all the way around _goddammit_ – and spreads Louis’ legs until he feels like they might snap off, but Harry makes this wonderful little noise when he sees Louis’ hole, puckered and pink and pretty and _wanting_ , and Louis doesn’t ever want to close them.

“Fuck, Lou,” Harry settles in the V of Louis’ legs and his heart is rabbiting because Harry’s breath is hot and he can feel it ghosting over his skin and he knows what he’s going to do.

“You don’t even…don’t even know how long I’ve wanted…,” Harry leans down and presses a lingering kiss to Louis’ rim, his lips warm and wet and soft and Louis’ lungs have given up, at this point. “God Louis, so gorgeous,” he’s almost whining now, letting his lips hover a fraction of an inch from Louis’ skin and Louis wishes he could see him, see how much he wants this – wants _Louis_. His thighs are trembling beneath Harry’s hands and he feels like he’s falling but it’s such a delicious feeling that he never wants it to stop.

Harry licks over Louis’ hole slowly, deliberately, and his tongue is like velvet and Louis’ skin is burning at every junction where Harry touches him and it’s all so good he thinks he might cry. He licks a few more times, moaning softly like he’s relishing the taste of Louis and that’s just, well, _fuck._ But then Harry’s tongue is gone and no, no that’s not right. Louis whines into the sheets because he wants it back, wants it _inside_.

“Can I flip you over? Wanna see you…wanna see how pretty you look when I wreck you.”

Harry’s voice is soft but undeniably feral and Louis feels like his body is made of ramen noodles but he can’t turn over fast enough, really.

He’s beautiful. His pupils are wide and his hair looks like a tsunami and his lips are swollen and lovely because he’s had them wrapped around his dick and pressed up against his hole and Louis’ entire body shudders. He’s got his pants off now and one hand wrapped around himself, pumping slowly just _looking_ at Louis, eyes trailing up and down his naked form, like that’ll be enough to get him off and Louis can’t even begin to comprehend what that means. It’s completely surreal, all this. It’s completely surreal and Harry’s shirt is still clinging to his torso and his tongue is nowhere _near_ where Louis wants it and that just won’t do at _all_.

“Harry…,” Louis croaks, voice shaking, “please….shirt….tongue… _please_.”

“ _Jesus Christ_ ,” Harry’s t-shirt goes sailing across the room, “m’gonna _ruin_ you.”

Louis whimpers. Yes, he thinks he would like that very much.

Harry closes his teeth around the soft flesh of Louis’ inner thigh and Louis hisses, eyes slipping closed. He dips his tongue into Louis’ hole, then, and his back would arch off the mattress if not for the pressure of Harry’s palm against his hipbone, pressing his body down.

He buries his tongue deep, licking at Louis’ walls and all Louis can hear is the wet smacking sound and Harry’s soft hums of approval and his fucking _tongue_ is inside him and it feels so absolutely incredible that he has to bite his wrist to keep from screaming.

It doesn’t work.

It doesn’t work because Harry is fucking his tongue into Louis faster and slicker and Louis is so _so_ hard, dripping precome all over his tummy.

“ _Fuck_ … _Harry_ … _oh my God_ …”

Louis rocks his ass back against Harry’s face because he’s needy, so fucking needy and he can’t get enough. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get enough. Harry moans, then, tongue still deep inside him, and the earth is shattering, it has to be.

“Harry Harry Harry… _fuck_ , _Harry_ …”

Louis’ entire body is quivering and there are tears trailing over his cheekbones; he doesn’t know when he started crying but he _is_ , because Harry just keeps licking and licking and it’s the most overwhelming sensation Louis’ felt in his life. He doesn’t want to come because he thinks he’d really like to live with Harry’s tongue in his arse but he feels his orgasm rolling toward him like a tidal wave.

“Gonna…so close... _please_ …”

Louis isn’t really clear what he’s begging for but Harry takes his hands away  from Louis’ hips and grips his bum, spreading him wider, burying his face in deeper, and that’s _it_. His vision is whitewashed and his mouth falls open and he comes harder than he thinks he ever has, clenching around Harry’s tongue and shooting milky translucence all the way up to his chin.

His body crumples, then, letting the sheets uncurl from his fists and he feels like he’s sinking into the mattress. Harry stops licking him open, instead bracketing his thighs across Louis’ waist, hand around himself, fucking up into his fist roughly.

“So fucking hot, Lou, taste so good,” Harry’s voice is gravelly and it cracks on the last word. There’s sweat dripping from his hair and some of it lands on Louis’ chest and he just breathes and blinks and watches Harry bring himself closer and closer to the edge. He’s so pretty.

“Gonna come…wanna come all over your pretty face…”

Louis nods as much as he can and parts his lips, waiting and _wanting_ , wanting to taste Harry too, and Harry’s coming with a groan.

Harry’s stunning all the time, but when he’s coming he’s, well, Louis doesn’t even think there’s a word for that. His skin is sweat shiny and his muscles are straining and he bites his lip and Louis wants this moment on repeat for the rest of his life. He catches what he can on his tongue, and it’s salty and wonderful and _Harry_ , and the rest coats his hair and his eyelashes and paints over his cheekbones.

Harry collapses next to him, then, stretching his neck so that he can lick Louis’ face clean. Louis’ tummy does a little flutter, at that, because Harry is _licking his own come off of Louis’ face_ , and he’d be on his way to rock hard again if his body didn’t feel like jelly. Harry finishes, licks his lips, and rests his head on Louis’ chest, one arm flung around his waist and curls tickling his chin. They’re both come-sticky and sweaty and perfumed in weed but Louis doesn’t think he ever wants to move from this spot, right here.

He figures now is as good a time as any.

“Harry?” His voice is so raspy it’s barely a voice at all.

Harry hums against his sternum.

“I’m in love with you, I think.”

“I know.”

He presses a feather-light kiss to the spot right over Louis’ slowing heart, and Louis’ pretty sure that means _I love you too._

 

 

 

 


End file.
